


Watching

by lauraloves



Category: Bård Ylvisåker - Fandom, Ylvis
Genre: Bård being the baws, F/M, Fluff and Smut, I kveld med Ylvis, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 19:11:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2281344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauraloves/pseuds/lauraloves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are fleeting moments when the temptation to end the wicked game feels almost too strong, but I won’t. Somehow, even amidst the cameras, the crowds and everything else, I can feel his eyes on me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little IKMY smut.

The room seems subject to some fucked up method of thermostatic regulation. The hot and cold seems to come through in cycles. First, the vents pump out stifling heat, and just when I feel like I’m going to pass out, a harsh cold, breeze chills me to the marrow. Right now I’m experiencing the former, and I swear I can feel the sweat droplets forming where my back is in contact with the chair. I try and shift but it does no good. Along with my tight black dress and the hard-backed wooden chair I’m sitting in, all elements seem to conspire against me ever sitting comfortably tonight in this locked office high up in the theatre complex.        

In front of me a large LCD monitor, usually used for meetings, suddenly flickers to life, revealing a moving image of a familiar scene, a stage. The camera pans around and I take it all in. The first thing I see is sharp-suited band playing an opening theme song with gusto. The music swells and next is a wide, accommodating sofa. The camera suddenly switches to show a sea of faces cheering and laughing. Finally, the moving cameras settle on the central feature of the entire spectacle, a large slightly imposing desk. Behind the desk lies the ubiquitous Big Boss chair. I watch as three men ascend the stage in quick succession. The first man is tall, lean, very blond and very striking. He wears a mask of solemnity that barely disguises the immense joy he is obviously feeling moving across that space. He is followed by a shorter man with shining eyes and a head of dark luxuriant curls that appear to bounce as he chuckles into the camera. This man quickly recedes to stage left, and the camera focuses on the third man. Golden hair cascades around his head as he moves swiftly and smoothly to his place in the big daddy chair.

The studio lights cast a shiny, golden halo of him and his devilishly angelic visage. It's immediately clear to anyone that he is a man of supreme confidence. He also happens to be uncommonly handsome. No, pretty. No, wait... Beautiful. But really it's more than that. I could spout off clichés about how his beauty is merely the tip of the iceberg, but this is sort of true; for underneath the surface lies something altogether more deep, vast and potentially dangerous. It could rip open the seam of a passing vessel and sink it to the bottom of the ocean. My insides seem to liquefy as he throws the camera a look. The look that makes you feel that you’re all he can see.

The very same eyes were trained intently on mine just an hour before as he led me backwards into the now all-too-familiar wooden chair. He had walked slowly around me in his shiny black dance shoes until he disappeared from my peripheral vision. I tried to turn to see what he was doing, but he tutted and gently pushed my head to face the large TV screen. He crouched so his head was at my level and I felt a hot puff of air at the nape of my neck "Watch me tonight?" It was more a demand than a question. I nodded, turned on by his proximity but confused by his actions as he pulled at my wrists and united them behind the back of the chair. I gasped at the sensation of a smooth, thin strip of fabric enveloping my wrists. A tie, I realised quickly. "Watch", he repeated in my ear, with a whisper as loud as a roar. "I like a captive audience". He said the last two words in English, turning the syllables over in his mouth slowly and deliberately as the constrictive feeling in my wrists intensified. He ensnared me by trickery, with charm and smiles that did not belie his intent. Now I am here, restrained by a delicate yet unyielding strip of silk. In the midst of the confusion, agitation, trepidation, arousal and anticipation, a chuckle escapes my parted lips as I finally understand the joke and the significance of the man’s words. He has always appreciated a good pun. With little choice or alternative, I watch intently.                                

I follow him like I would follow a map, tracing the landmarks, the uneven terrain and the curves in the road. Every destination I land on sends a jolt through my system. The sight of those hands gripping the cue cards; smooth, slender and well-kept. No one but me knows that not long ago those fingers were so far up my cunt I could practically taste them. My cheeks flame at the memory and the stifling room seems even hotter than before. Despite my arousal, I am starting to feel really uncomfortable, with my arms contorted in unnatural position. I'm hot and I itch. I itch on parts of my body I've previously given little thought to. For a moment I experience an all-consuming hatred for my left earlobe and the irritation I cannot satisfy. There are fleeting moments when the temptation to end the wicked game feels almost too strong, but I won’t. Somehow, even amidst the cameras, the crowds and everything else, I can feel his eyes on me. So I sit and I watch as the tiny pixels collide together in a kaleidoscope of colour to form his visage.

I watch. And as I watch, I wonder of all the hundreds and thousands of eyes watching right now. I wonder what they see, and the with what I see, what I know. I know about the parts of himself that he cannot show. I have touched the rough edges of his smooth curves. I have tasted the sour tang of his sweet smile. I watch him maintain the rapt attention of an audience 1000 strong without so much as breaking a sweat. I listen in awe to the ease and fluidity of his speech, despite the obvious pressures of being broadcast live to an unprecedented number of viewers.                                                                          

Suddenly the show is over. I can no longer feel his eyes on me, and I feel myself switch off somewhat as the adverts come on. Somehow I must have slept, because my eyes reopen to a silent room with the face of my captor, staring back at me with an unfathomable gaze. He silently observes me, but given that I am essentially at his mercy I try to keep my composure. He leans in closer, gripping the sides of my chair for support, until the tip of his nose nudges my chin, I tilt my head back involuntarily and soft lips brush my neck and exhale softly. I feel my heart skip a beat. A statue of fear, I am frozen in time and space, until his lips trace a path to the corner of my mouth.

"Untie me, please" I whisper, trying hard to keep the desperation out of my voice. He looks straight at me. He chuckles softly as he backs away, unfastening a button on his jacket. He smiles that wicked smile.                     

"Only if you're good". He answers, reaching slowly into his inner breast pocket and pulls out a lacy piece of fabric. He watches for the flicker of recognition in my eyes. Of course I recognise the garment. The sensation of his cool, delicate fingers pulling at my panties and slowly gliding them off me was the last point of contact I had with the man before he left me. I had thought the act was simply a means to leave me vulnerable and in want. But the knowledge that he kept them with him through hours of skits, jokes and easy smiles is so fucking hot that I feel my arousal stir and intensify. I gasp in surprise, right when he pushes those panties hard into my mouth. He's getting off on the sight of me bound and gagged. This has always been his kink. He's standing so close I can feel his cock twitch against my leg in response to my muffled moans.

He kneels in front of me and the makeshift gag suppresses my guttural moan as he starts to lightly graze my thighs. His explorations start off slow and deliberate, fingers travelling up my flesh creating goose pimples in their wake. My breathing grows heavy and laboured and my breasts heave in the tight dress. I moan again as his tongue makes contact with my pussy. Without verbal or physical means to guide him to the right spot, I throw my head back and submit to the exquisite torture as he alternates between too-slow broad strokes and too-delicate tongue flicks that frustrate me so much I try and buck against him. However, his hands push back against my hips with a firm resistance that will surely leave marks. A wisp of caramel hair falls in his eyes as he works away between my legs. I instinctively want to push it back behind his ear, but remember my restraints, and suddenly the urge to touch him, guide him, to do something is so overwhelming I moan in frustration, muffled by the garment between my teeth. He looks at me, eyes like blue flames. I am a wick, waiting to be lit by the fire that flickers beneath the brittle ice. Right when it all feels so intense he inserts two fingers inside of me, push-pulling towards my naval in a come hither action that sends me suddenly and unexpectedly cascading over the edge. He is relentless as he pumps the orgasm out of me, long eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones as he greedily laps up every drop.                                           

"Good girl" he breathes. He pulls my panties out of my mouth and within a fraction of a second he's kissing me hungrily, mumbling about how good I taste. It's obvious that the watching and the waiting is finally over and I'm happy for him to set this new tempo. He hums appreciatively into the kiss, beautiful lips swollen and chin wet with my cum. I suddenly feel a release of pressure on my wrists as he reaches around to untie me. I'm hesitant to move and so he takes the lead, pulling my arms towards him and leading me to the couch nearby. We fall together, and my hands feel alien and clumsy as I fumble with the buttons of his white shirt. My fingers make contact with the short fair chest hairs. Recent regrowth. Under the crisp shirt his skin is warm and slightly clammy to the touch. I kiss his exposed collarbone, darting my tongue over that sweet spot. He smells of soap and fresh sweat, he tastes delicious. He's grasping, gasping and making sweet sounds as clothes are discarded and litter the floor around us. The heated exchange is frenetic, and my frustration is audible as the tip of his cock grazes my entrance. Inexplicably but not wholly unexpectedly, he stops to tease me one last time.

"Tell me what you want" he whispers hoarsely as he nips at the delicate flesh of my exposed collarbones. It's hard to find my voice in the midst of it all.

"I want you". I whisper, panting. 

"I can't hear you..." He chides softly, withdrawing almost completely. The tip of his rock hard dick is merely grazing my clit. I whimper in sheer frustration.

"I want your cock in me please…please…" The words have the desired effect, and he drives deep inside me, fucking me hard and fast and in the rawest sense. He grunts and pants with every enthusiastic thrust. After hours of watching him keep a cool, calm composed exterior under a seemingly vast amount of pressure, the sounds of a man who has well and truly come undone are irresistible.                                          

I can feel the orgasm building in me again as we move together. His sweet moans are increasingly more audible as he nears completion, and I fleetingly wonder if we can be heard, before realising it doesn't matter; he's the Boss. I pretty much mumble something to that effect as I come again, gripping the sofa for fear of being washed away on the crest of some euphoric wave. He swiftly follows, groaning as he spills his seed deep inside me. We pant hot and heavy, covered in sweat and the scent of our mutual ecstasy. As we catch our breath I can feel the insistent pull of sleep, comforted by the weight of his warm body on mine. I look up at that perfect smile that never fails to captivate me.

I could watch him all day.


End file.
